And the tears I was able to keep away earlier start to fall down my cheeks. “If you keep saying sweet things like that, I’m going to fall in love with you Bridger.”
I’m trying to tease him, but it comes out more like a warning. I’m not even sure I’m warning him. Maybe it’s more for me.
Bridger doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t step away from me. Then he starts to sway, his hands rubbing over my bump where our child is growing. My eyes close and I know I’m way past warning myself.
I think I’ve already fallen for the man holding me up and holding me together.
Hopefully, my heart can stay whole, and I can really find my place in this world, a place that includes a family.
CHAPTER 13
BRIDGER
There are so many things I should say, but I don’t trust my voice. The thought of the woman in my arms falling in love with me should have me wanting to put distance between us. It has the opposite effect; I want to pull her closer.
The fact that Avery has so little she wants to take from this place makes me want to slap some sense into her parents. But I also understand it. Why take things that remind you of somewhere you never want to return to? She should only take the good.
Even though I couldn’t watch her the entire time we were packing up, I did notice the gentle way she touched certain items. A baby blanket she pulled out of the depths of her closet. A book that looked like a small photo album. A locket that was probably the least expensive item in her jewelry box.
These are the things that matter to her the most; I hope she’ll share with me why they’re so important one day. I want to know how to earn the same kind of soft, reverent touch from her.
Even though I don’t respond to her teasing about falling in love with me, she doesn’t seem to hold it against me. She simply sighs and lets me take a little more of her weight. I like the way she fits against my chest, probably too much.
“I’m done,” she sighs.
I look at the suitcases and bags and frown. “Okay,” I grunt. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get these things out of here?”
She looks at me from over her shoulder, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion. She looks so fucking adorable.
“What do you mean? We’re going to carry them downstairs and then load them into your car,” she says like it’s obvious.
Maybe to her it is.
“First of all, Sweetheart,” I grit out through my teeth, “you’re not carrying anything other than the baby in your belly.” She narrows her eyes, and I can see the way she’s gearing up to argue with me, but I shake my head and add, “Secondly, I don’t want to leave you alone. Not up here and not down there.”
All the fight drains from her, and she nods. “I see your point.” She looks at the bags again and nibbles on her bottom lip. “Honestly, this suitcase,” she points to the ones where she put all the items she touched with reverent love, “is the only one I really need. I’ve been saving, I can buy more clothes. It’s not like I have a job right now where I need to dress a certain way.”
I hate the defeated edge to her voice. But at the same time, my admiration for this woman grows. It’s clear she doesn’t care about material things. She cares about the things she treasures.
“You’re not leaving anything behind for that woman, or anyone else, to get their hands on.” I nudge her toward the door. “Come on, we’ll figure it out.”
It turns out that my woman is stubborn as hell. As we step past her bags, she tries to snag one of the duffle bags to carry it.
“Avery,” I growl, a warning clear in my tone.
She gives me a sheepish look and pouts a little. As if that’ll have me giving in. When I stand with my feet spread and cross my arms across my chest while giving her a look that tells her exactly what I think of her actions, her cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink.
Finally, she puts the bag down, holds her hands up, and steps away. “Thank you,” I rasp.
The thought of her hurting herself, even if the bag isn’t overly stuffed and heavy, has my heart pounding in my chest. I’m not going to let it happen.
I grab two of the suitcases and take them out to the top of the stairs. Then I sling the duffle bags over my shoulder and wheel the third suitcase out. I look downstairs and even though I don’t see her mom, my gut clenches with the idea of Avery being alone with her or at the harpy jumping out of the shadows. I’m not going to let it happen.
Her mom is a piece of work. I could smell the alcohol seeping from her pores. And the things she said? The woman should be ashamed of herself. The sad thing is that there’s no doubt in my mind that she’ll never see the error of her ways.
Just like my mom.
She never saw the trauma she caused by allowing a steady stream of men in and out of our lives. While she was looking for something she never was able to find, she exposed me to hatred and resentment. I lost count of the number of men who tried to play dad to me to butter up my mom. Then something would go wrong, and they’d be gone.
